


The shirt that you hate

by TenderGlitteryGays



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Stiles Stilinski, Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Socially Awkward Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenderGlitteryGays/pseuds/TenderGlitteryGays
Summary: It had been a month now. A month without any life signs from him. No phonecalls, no text messages. Nothing. There was no chance he was coming back. Derek had left. And he would stay gone. Gone from Stiles' life forever.





	The shirt that you hate

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first ever Sterek fanfic! 
> 
> I had a blast writing this, and i hope you like it. The story is inspired by a Swedish song called Tröjan du hatar (i.e. The shirt that you hate). 
> 
> Not beta'ed. All faults are my own. I own nothing but the plot for this particular story.
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been a month now. A month without any life signs from _him_. No phonecalls, no text messages. Nothing. There was no chance he was coming back. This was not part of their un-named but definitely there, on-again-off-again kind of thing they had. Their whole "thing" was undefinable, but Stiles knew that this... this wasn't part of it. Derek had left. And he would stay gone. Gone from Stiles' life forever. 

It had started therapeutic. The way Stiles had calmly gathered up the things Derek had left behind in his apartment. Like that black t-shirt they tore apart in a hurry to get undressed. Stiles had kept it. As a memory of their first... encounter. 

But now the t-shirt, and some other unimportant stuff that belonged to Derek that he had begun to leave at Stiles' place out of convenience, like a grey toothbrush, was stacked away in a very small box. Stupid Derek and his stupid black-and-grey colour scheme. Stupid Derek and the stupid small box of convenient after-sex-stuff. 

The more Stiles stared at the box, the more unnerved he got. Stupid Stiles and his stupid desicion to let Derek into his life. Stupid Derek, and his stupid aftershave that wouldn't leave his sheets even after a wash. Stupid sheets. 

"Stupid stuPID STUPID", Stiles repeated loudly as he tore the sheets from his bed, and emptied his linen closet. 

Stiles continued to repeat that same word, again and again and again, as he got out a pair of scissors and cut all of his sheets into little pieces of confetti. 

He then ran to his closet and pulled on _that_ shirt. The shirt he had gotten as a birthday present from Oliver. His ex. The shirt that was a dark forest green, with the Incredible Hulk in a more neon green nuance printed on the front. Derek hated that fucking shirt. And Stiles hated Derek. He fucking _hated_ him. 

Stiles hurriedly collected as much of his confetti sheets as he could, gathered them in the pockets of his jeans, and in the makeshift pouch he made from the Hulk t-shirt. There was a lot of confetti pieces, and as he made his way to the window, confetti in his arms, at least a third of it ended back onto the floor, like white sprinkles of memories. 

He opened his window and looked down onto the street view below him. People were walking around, going on about their day like nothing had changed. Stiles knew that everything had changed. Stupid Derek. 

Stiles grabbed a fist full of the sheet confetti he had made of their memories together, and threw it out of the window, letting them sail down onto the street like snow. He always hated the winter anyway, he thought, as he dumped the rest of his confetti out through the window. 

He stormed back into his apartment and picked up the little box of convenient after-sex-stuff and scowled at it. This wouldn't do. Derek wanted out of his life? Fine! That was exactly what he was getting. And then Stiles stomped back to his window and resolutely tipped the box over, emptying the contents on the street below. Although, right as he did, he saw his next door neighbour just barely avoiding getting hit in the head by Derek's aftershave bottle. 

Stiles tried to duck beneath his window, but just as he was going down, she looked up at him with a stern look upon her face, lifting her fist in the air and shaking it. 

"Sorry Mrs Waters!! I'm so sorry!!" Stiles yelled down from his window.

Mrs Waters continued to gesture with her old wrinkled hands and yelled as loud as she could up the three stories that separated her and Stiles.

"Wha..? Ye-es I will of course clean it up. Right away. Huh? No of course the street isn't a dumpster... The thing is... I just... slipped? The white pieces of...? AH yes. No, definitely not mine... I have no idea what you're talking about!" Stiles said in a raised voice, and gesticulated weakly before he settled with running his hand through his hair and scratch his neck.

Mrs Waters raised her fist at Stiles once more, and left with a threat of calling the landlord if the mess on the street wasn't gone when she came back. 

"Sir, yes, sir! Eh... ma'am..." Stiles paused for a while. "Have a lovely day, Mrs Waters!" he finished weakly before he slid down along the wall of his apartment, landing on the floor just beside his window with his face in his hands. 

He did clean up the mess on the street though. Well most of it. It was hard chasing down sheet confetti. 

~~~

Another week passed, and Stiles still slept on his bed, sans sheets. He hadn't had the energy, or will really, to go shopping. Well. No more sulking. The sulking was officially over. The zone of self-pitying-sulk had expired. He scoffed a little at his very, very bad reference to his favourite RPG podcast, and made up his mind. He would get his ass out of the apartment. TODAY. And he would buy new sheets. And maybe some vegetables. And he would shower. God he really needed a shower. He was _musty_. 

Not only had he worn the Hulk shirt for the entire week. No. He had also just continued to add deodorant under his armpits to cover the smell of un-showered 20-something man that was his body odour. 

Stiles moved into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. Pale skin, dark cirkles, and hair sticking up at all angles. His shirt had distinct stains on it. He lifted the hem and looked more closely at a yellow one, right above his navel. Mustard. What had he eaten with mustard? Did he even own mustard?

Musing on his shrodinger's mustard, he then lifted his right arm and sniffed. It wasn't too bad actually. Yesterday's deodorant application still held up against the battle. Before he knew it, he had applied another batch of smell repressants, put a hat on to cover the spiky greasyness that was his hair, and made his way out and into his jeep. He would shower when he came home. 

~~~

Pulling his cart along the sheet isles in the store, looking the way he did made him realize two things. 1 - He looked like crap. And 2 - he had never blended in better at Wal-Mart than he did right at this moment. 

Not a soul looked at him oddly. Nobody wrinkled their noses when he walked by. Nobody drew their gazes along his body in a disgusted fashion. He briefly entertained the idea of just assimilating to this style of living. It would certainly make his life less demanding. Although, his classmates would probably not approve, and seeing that school started again in less than two weeks, he dropped the idea quickly. 

"Time to get your life in order, Stiles", he said to himself as he placed two sets of bed linen in his cart. 

Just as he was about to continue towards the vegetables - seriously, this store was very convenient - he abruptly stopped in his movement as he saw a pair of black sneakers stopping by his cart. He recognized those. 

"Stiles." 

Stiles drew his eyes slowly up the form of the person standing in front of him. Black jeans. Black henley underneath a black leather jacket. Black scruff framing a frowning face. Stupid black colour scheme. And as he finally settled on the green hue of the person's eyes - really the only pop of colour on this entire person - he wanted the world to swallow him hole. Last year there had been a sinkhole outside of his apartment. They could probably happen in stores too. If God was on his side. Which he apparently was not. 

"Derek!", he greeted with a plastered on smile.

"What are you doing here, Stiles." Derek apparently had the nerve to ask. No, not ask. State. All stoic and clean and as handsome as ever, like everything was fine. All the while Stiles had a week's worth of sweat, deodorant and food stains on him. Stupid mustard. 

Stiles could see Derek's nostrils flaring as he apparently took in the very obvious smell he was surrounded by. Derek pulled his eyebrows together. The nerve of him. 

"Oh, you know... Just the usual Sunday sheet shopping. Every Sunday. Like clockwork. And before you ask, yes. Yes it is indeed the 'walk into Wal-Mart like you haven't showered in a week'-day. You obviously didn't get the memo. A shame really. Very awkward for you." Stiles clapped Derek on the shoulder twice to accentuate the pity he felt for him, and then moved his cart towards the vegetables.

Well. He would have moved. If Derek hadn't gripped his arm as he tried to flee from this very awkward situation. 

"What are you doing? Let me go. The vegetables are calling me. In fact, I must retract my previous statement. It's sheet- and vegetable shopping day, actually. Very important. Almost life or death important. So... I gotta..." Stiles finished with a thumb thrown over his shoulder to indicate where he was heading. 

"The vegetables are this way, Stiles." Derek pointed in the opposite direction of where Stiles did. 

"Ah. Yes. Of course. I knew that. But you know me, I like to take the scenic route."

Derek stared at him for a second. His face betraying noting. Stupid Derek and his stupid face. Then,

"...What are you wearing." It wasn't a question. Derek didn't know how to ask questions. He just made statements formed like questions. 

"Uh, my favourite shirt of all time, obviously?" Stiles, on the other hand made almost everything seem like a question. 

Derek just stared at him like... Well, like he was a wall, actually. 

"It's the Incredible Hulk."

Derek deadpanned. "You hate that shirt."

"Eh no? _You_ hate this shirt." Come to think of it, Stiles wasn't that fond of this shirt either. Stupid shirt. 

Derek dropped his arm, a small flicker of, well, emotion, briefly made it's appearance in his face. 

"Stiles, I know I was gone for a while, but not even you can be so dumb to actually think that I have lost my ability to hear when I'm being lied to". 

Stiles had for a second forgotten his anger towards Derek. But now it flared up and came back tenfold. 

"How dare you?!" Stiles growled, turned around with his cart and stomped towards the exit of the store. Which would have made for a fantasticly dramatic exit, hadn't it been for the security guard insisting that Stiles had to leave the cart inside, or be arrested for theft. 

Stiles did, in fact, see the error of his ways, although it was with great difficulty he agreed to leave his newly acquired sheets inside of the store. He threw an apologetic smile to the guard, after staring longingly at the cart with his sheets, and then awkwardly turned around and left the store with a neck scratch. Stupid Derek for making him leave without sheets. 

Stiles stomped to his jeep in anger and disappointment. Who was Derek to interrupt his sheet- and vegetable shopping trip? And doing it and looking perfectly fine on top of that?! And also pointing out Stiles' lies like he had a right to listen to his heartbeat after over a month of radio silence?! No. Fuck Derek and his stupid ears and his nose and his... stupid face.

Slamming the door in anger and cranking the gear into position, Stiles spared a look towards the store entrance, where he saw Derek standing crestfallen. He felt a heavy weight in his stomach as he turned his gaze back to the road, started his jeep and drove away. 

~~~

A knock on his door stirred Stiles into action again. It wasn't a fast paced kind of action, but it was still action. 

He had been sitting on the floor staring into a wall since he came home almost an hour ago. But now, someone had had the audacity to disturb his silent hell. It was probably Mrs Walker, still upset about the whole confetti and aftershave event. 

Stiles opened the door,  
"I told you, Mrs Walker, the confetti pieces still flying around our neighbourhood aren't mine..." Stiles stopped his speech as he came face to face with the last person he wanted to see today. Again. 

After a second of silent staring, Stiles slammed the door closed in front of his scruffy faced intruder and turned away from the door at the same time. Except the door didn't slam. It didn't even close. 

Stiles slowly turned back towards his door, crossing his arms in front of him. It was _not_ a defensive stance. Not at all. 

"What are you doing here, Derek." 

Nice, using Derek's method of speaking with no question marks had made one of Derek's eyebrows twitch. 

"What have I done wrong this time, Stiles?"

Wait - was that a question mark in Derek's voice?! Stiles was adamant that he wouldn't let that get to him, and scoffed instead.

"Well, you've done nothing wrong, Derek. You've made it perfectly clear, however, just how much you don't want to be in my life anymore. We were just fuckbuddies, so what are you doing here?" Stiles said, before adding a "Bro." 

Derek stared at Stiles, with a weirdly wounded face, before sighing in defeat. 

"What are you talking about. I thought I had made myself very clear that I wanted to be with you Stiles."

Stiles looked slightly taken aback. 

"HOW have you made that clear?! We never TALK about our 't h i n g'!" Stiles responded, airquotes and all, totally incredulous to what Derek was saying.

"I left my toothbrush at your place, Stiles. How much clearer can I be."

Stiles threw his arms up in the air, before responding with,  
"Well, I don't know! How about fricking _using your words_ for once in your life! And like showing some consistency, like for example not staying away for a whole month without a single word as to your whereabouts!!" 

"Well apparently that doesn't always work either. As you conveniently forgot about me _telling_ you I'd be gone for a while. On pack business. Without reception."

Stiles was shocked into silence for a second, before saying,

"Well, as I have been on the receiving end of your communication skills on multiple occasions, I'm sure you just grunted and lifted a brow... Yes, just like you're doing now!" He looked down on his shoes, suddenly feeling extremely foolish standing in the doorway of his own apartment. 

"Although, now that you say it, it does ring a small bell. A tiny one. Barely there." He glanced up again, rubbing his neck and with a slanted smile on his lips. 

"I'm sorry for insulting your communication skills. And for... you know... the whole... debacle..." Stiles finally said, finishing off with a vague gesture into the air in front of him.

Derek just stared at Stiles, until a small smile, mirroring the one he was receiving from Stiles, crept onto his face and softened his features. 

"I'm sorry too, for not texting you straight away yesterday when I came back. I was just... very tired." Derek responded, still with a smile, suddenly looking awkward and shy as he cast a glance towards the floor during his own apology.

"Come on in, Sourwolf. You'll scare Mrs Waters with your stupid smiley face. The world is just not ready for it yet." Stiles said, and playfully shoved his shoulder into Derek's. 

~~~ 

"Hah, it doesn't seem like I have any sheets. What a crazy coincidence, huh?! On the exact same day that I do my very regularly occurring sheet shopping. I must have lost them. All of them. In the laundry. You know... like with socks." Stiles weakly laughed in an attempt to hide his obvious lie.

"Well, I wasn't planning on us using the bed anyways. You smell like you haven't showered in a few days and just reapplied deodorant to hide it". 

"HA! Joke's on you. It was _actually_ a week!". Stiles was actually mildly proud of the power of his deodorant as it had managed to retract and hide days of unshowered smell from a highly sensitive and skilled nose. 

"That's disgusting, Stiles", Derek said in a laugh as he steered the way towards the shower with Stiles' shoulders in a firm grip in front of him. 

Once in the bathroom, with the shower spraying hot water in the stall and steam rising in the room, Stiles started to remove his mustard stained shirt. 

"You know what? I fucking hate this shirt", he said. 

"It's the one you got from what's his face... Oscar, right."

"Oliver," Stiles said, but nodded anyway.

"I fucking hate it too", Derek responded and ripped the shirt in half.

Stiles let out a shocked, but still delighted laugh at Derek's jealous ministrations, before flicking him with some water from the shower, adding a "Douchebag", for emphasis, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

~~~

After a nice shower which ended in making the both of them fresh and clean, then dirty, and then clean again; Derek and Stiles strolled around the apartment in nothing but towels around their waists. 

It was not, however, until Derek walked back into the bathroom, and an un-amused "STILES", could be heard through the apartment, that Stiles knew - he had fucked up. 

"STILES where is my aftershave. And my toothbrush."

_"STILES."_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Find me on Tumblr  
> @Tenderglitterygays


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